


Behind Closed Eyes

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Stilinski Family Feels, TW: Blood, i am turning into jeff davis, this is so heartbreaking idk where this came from
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-01-29
Packaged: 2018-01-10 10:29:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This time when his son’s horror filled screams of distress filled the halls, John was still too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Behind Closed Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> i appologize like seriously i am so sorry   
> (actually i'm not your pain brings me great joy because i am literally the spawn of satan aka jeff davis)

He was too late this time. He knew he should’ve just stayed in Stiles’ room with him, brought his pillow and slept on the floor with his ears alert to any pained whimpers or indicators that the screaming was about to start. But no, this time when his son’s horror filled screams of distress filled the halls, John was still too late. 

When the screaming had echoed through the Stilinski household like a call to arms, it was a matter of seconds before he was slamming himself into Stiles’ door to throw it open. He immediately fell into action, sliding in behind his son’s writhing form and slipping protective arms around him to keep him from lashing out any further. It wasn’t until the screaming had faded into sobs and Stiles had finally collapsed back against his father that John realized how sticky and wet Stiles arms felt. It was then that the biting scent of copper filled the air. 

Keeping one arm still wrapped around his son, the sheriff reached out and flicked the lamp next to Stiles’ bed on. In the dim light, he could see the blood dripping down Stiles’ arms from deep scratch marks, and the blood already drying on his fingernails. 

“Oh Stiles…” he breathed, barely over a whisper. 

Stiles brought his legs up to rest under his chin, effectively making himself as small as possible. He brought a shaky hand up to examine the crimson caked to the tips of nails that had been bitten to the bud. John watched through sad eyes as the realization hit Stiles of what he’d done upon examining the long, red marks down his forearms. His hands, still shaking, flew up to cover his mouth as Stiles let out a sob, his head shaking back and forth almost violently. He wrapped his free arm around his knees and let himself fall to the side so he was resting against his dad’s chest, which immediately earned him two strong arms wrapped around his body and lips pressed into his hair whispering words of comfort. His dad ran his hand soothingly up and down the top of his arm as he rested his chin on Stiles’ head.

“We’re going to figure this out,” John said, still keeping his voice low as he fought against showing pain in his voice. He had to be strong right now, for Stiles. “I promise you, we’re going to figure this out.”

He felt Stiles shift under his grip but he didn’t try to pull away, instead he let the hand that was trying to hide his sobs fall away from his mouth and grip his father’s shirt as he pulled himself closer, almost as if he was trying to hold on for fear of being pulled away by something.

“What if we can’t?” he asked in a small, broken voice. John refused to let himself fall apart at how Stiles voice sounded. It was rough from screaming, quiet from fear, and shaky from crying. “What if I’m just crazy, Dad? What then?” 

John raised on his hands from it’s grip on Stiles’ arm to gently push soothing fingers through his son’s hair. “You are not crazy, ok. We will fix this. Together. I’m not going to stop until we do.”

Stiles’ crying suddenly increased and John tightened his arms around the shaking teen, desperately wanting to shield him from the horrors that we plaguing him, but still knowing he can’t. How can you protect someone from something inside their mind?

“I’m just so tired, Dad. I want it all to stop,” Stiles voice shook with every word.

John began rubbing circles on his back in attempt to calm his son. “I know, kiddo. I know.” 

They sat like that for hours before Stiles finally regained his breath and was able to stop shaking. He eventually passed out, exhausted from the night’s events. His dad held him a little while longer even after he heard the steady breathing that indicted he was asleep. Then he gently and slowly slid back out from behind the teen and positioned him delicately under the blankets that he been kicked off earlier when Stiles was still in the nightmare’s clutches. He carefully walked across Stiles’ room to his bathroom, taking precaution to place his feet in the perfect spots as not to cause the floor to creak and wake his son. It was a practice he hated being so familiar with. He quickly wet a washcloth and squeezed the excess water out before walking back across the room to his son’s bed. Stiles didn’t even flinch as his father ran the towel over his arms, gently washing away the blood. John wouldn’t let his mind wander to the thought that Stiles wasn’t woken up by the gesture because he was so physically and mentally exhausted. He refused to look at the pieces of dark brown hair still stuck to Stiles’ forehead with sweat as he cleaned away all signs of the pain his son, his son who he was supposed to protect, had inflicted upon himself. 

When all the blood had been washed from Stiles’ arms and all the remained was the thin lines of faint red showed as the wounds slowly began to heal, John set the wash cloth on the table by Stiles’ bed, deciding to wait till the morning to bandage his arms if need be, and slid into bed beside the kid he’d promised Claudia he would protect and love no matter what. He’d failed Stiles so many times. He knew he had. When the pain from the loss of his wife became too much and he numbed his own mind with a bottle of jack, all those years that Stiles needed him and he hadn’t been there, and he had not only failed his son but his wife as well. And now the sheriff was determined not to fail either of them again, so he wrapped one arm around his son and pulled him close before pressing a light kiss to his forehead, praying to any god out there listening that whatever monsters his son saw behind closed eyes would stay far away, even if only for the rest of the night.

**Author's Note:**

> ......... 
> 
> I'M SORRY


End file.
